“Yes, let’s,” Cam said. “Casriel has been sorely remiss, and sets a poor example for my impressionable self. Hasn’t danced yet this evening, or introduced me to any lonely widows, or even scolded me for over-imbibing.”
Will shook Cam by the scruff of the neck and shoved him toward the terrace steps, though he’d really rather have hugged him.
*
“Della, I think you’ve found the best dancer among the Dorning menfolk,” Nicholas said. “Perhaps you’d introduce us?”
Nick’s question bore all the geniality of a French firing squad taking aim, but only some of his ire would be directed at Mr. Ash Dorning. The rest, Susannah knew, was for her—for letting Della waltz with a man whom Nicholas, as Earl of Bellefonte and head of the family, had not inspected, interrogated, and investigated.
To Ash Dorning’s credit, his smile remained in place, his manner relaxed and sociable.
“Please do introduce us, Lady Della, that I might offer your family my compliments on your faultless waltzing.”
Blather, but charming blather. The knot in Susannah’s belly eased a fraction.
“I’ll do the honors,” she said, launching into the civilities. By the time she’d finished, the Earl of Casriel had joined the group, and where Casriel went…yes.
Willow Dorning lurked two paces away with the other brother, Sycamore, at his side. Sycamore was young enough to have an element of beauty about his features, of refinement and innocence. He’d shave more out of vanity than necessity most days, and his prettiness might not ever blossom into handsomeness.
While Willow Dorning had sauntered past mere handsomeness years ago.
After further introductions, it was decided that the Haddonfield party and the Dorning party would walk home as a group, neither having brought a carriage for the evening. At the appropriate hour, good nights were offered to the host and hostess, dancing pumps exchanged for sturdier footwear, and wraps assembled.
By sheerest coincidence, Casriel offered his arm to Nicholas’s countess, Leah. Della positioned herself between Cam and Ash Dorning, and Susannah was left to bring up the rear with Will.
Two brawny footmen from the Haddonfield household carried lanterns. The moon was full, and yet Susannah had a pleasant sense of sharing the darkness with her escort.
“Thanks seem to be in order again,” she said as the larger party moved ahead down the Darlingtons’ front steps. “I was growing frantic for Della. Once she waltzed with your brother, her card filled for the remainder of the evening.”
Susannah walked arm in arm with Will, his gloved hand resting over Susannah’s knuckles.
“Perhaps word of Lady Della’s availability for waltzes hadn’t reached the ears of the Eligibles yet,” Will said. “She’s a fine dancer, though. She’ll be thronged at her next ball, I’m sure.”
Will would do what he could for Della, in other words. Earlier in the evening, Nicholas had fumed and fretted and told Susannah she was imagining things, while Willow Dorning—without a word of discussion—had sent a dashing brother to the rescue.
“I hate London,” Susannah said as laughter burst from the group ahead of them. “Hate the meanness of it, the hypocrisy, and pettiness. I almost think a woman is better off finding a husband anywhere else besides this social menagerie, where the animals turn on each other out of sheer boredom.”
Her escort remained silent. Willow’s silences were of geological proportions. Vast quantities of thought, regard, irony, disappointment, or consideration could weigh upon the moments when he said nothing.
“About the husband hunting, my lady.”
“Wife hunting too,” Susannah said, warming to the topic. “What woman shows to her best advantage when she’s trying to dodge the Mannering twins’ malice, or some aging baron’s wandering hands? When she must sip the punch to be polite even though somebody has doctored her drink in aid of making a great fool of her in public?”
“They failed,” Will said gently. “Nobody made a fool of you, though some poor fern probably had a bad few weeks when you dumped out your drink. Are you hunting a husband, then?”
Susannah had dumped her drink all those years ago at Lady March’s tea dance because Will had taken a single, discreet sip and told her to. He’d tested all of her drinks after that.
“I am hunting for a husband,” Susannah said. “One good man. He doesn’t have to be wealthy or handsome, simply good and solvent, and his regard for his wife must be beyond question. Good birth would be nice, but even that isn’t—what?”
Will had stopped walking. “I cannot be that man, my lady, not even for you. I’m sorry. I have responsibilities, duties, myriad obligations, and precious little coin with which to meet them. I esteem you greatly, but honor requires that the truth be aired sooner rather than later, however much it pains me. Make no designs upon my future, for I hardly make any myself.”